Amour et Guerre by Saleena Livera

Two small girls held hands as they skipped through the small, quaint town. They were dressed identically in pink, cotton dresses with white collars. The sky was growing dark and the stars were starting to sparkle. The girls rested by the lakeside and played with dolls, made with sticks and spare fabric. In the distance, a group of soldiers were watching over a town hall.

As the council meeting came to an end, the soldiers marched in the direction of the girls and settled for the night in the woods. Suddenly, a tall, strong, dark-haired officer named Fritz caught a glimpse of the girls and scowled.

“What is wrong, Fritz?” asked his commanding officer.

“Look at that, the French scum are letting their stupid children play in the dark. They are girls as well. Do the French have no fear? Are they not aware of what happens to girls alone after dark?”

As Fritz’s anger built, a vein throbbed in his forehead and his eyes glinted. It was a sight that the commanding officer would never forget.

“They are trusting our humanity, Fritz. Who would even think to harm those girls? Look at them, the purity and innocence,” A tear rolled down his cheek as he remembered his own daughter.

“I see no purity or innocence,” replied Fritz, “French scum are all the same, if anyone does harm those girls, I would buy them a drink. French scum means nothing to me.”

The commanding officer tried to sleep, but he felt uneasy next to Fritz. Something had always seemed a little off about him, but today, today there was new intensity, a mania. Whilst questioning Fritz mentally, the officer eventually fell asleep.

As the clock struck 4, the officer was awakened by a scream for help. The first thing he saw was an empty bed next to him. Fritz was gone. He went out in his nightshirt and walked to the lakeside. He was so horrified by what he saw, that it still haunts him today. The body of a little girl floated on the lake, mutilated. The other little girl was sobbing helplessly, bewildered. She had also been attacked.

At this moment, he knew he wanted to leave the army. In this moment, he realised that this was the result of war and that war was just like this. Cold-hearted, pointless murder. Then, he realised where he was. It was just a short walk to the Swiss border.

But, the girl? He could take her. He recognised her dress, she was from Madame Theroux’s orphanage. It wasn’t a happy life there.

“Come…with…me,” he said, in broken French.

The small girl looked up to him; he looked just like her friend’s killer. Except there was a difference, there was a kindness in his eyes. Cautiously, she took his hand. Together, they walked toward the border.

Soon, they reached a small village in Switzerland. He saw a doctor’s office and knocked on the door. The old doctor was astonished by the sight of an injured little girl and a man in his pyjamas at noon.

The little girl looked up at him and in the quietest voice said, “A bad man attacked me. So my dad and I had to flee France,”

The old man understood and bandaged her wounds. Meanwhile, he looked at the officer.

“What is your name?” he asked.

The officer panicked, his name was known throughout Europe for his high status in the Nazi Empire; he looked at the bookshelf for inspiration.

“My name is Immanuel Descartes,” he said.

The doctor was suspicious, but he felt the man’s kind aura and carried his suspicions to his deathbed.